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Luther Campbell always liked when he got to hear the music first—before the radio stations. As a young DJ in Miami, Florida, in the 1980s, Campbell was part of a “record pool” which gave him early access to new singles and new artists. In his early twenties, he would spin records at parties, often at his mother’s house. He’d play reggae or whatever else got the people moving. That led Campbell—who also goes by Luke, Uncle Luke, Luke Skyywalker, and likely several other names throughout his career—to join a like-minded DJ group. He both produced beats and spun the records he had early access to at local parties. Little did anyone know that these humble, music-loving beginnings would eventually lead Campbell and his group, 2 Live Crew, to upending the world with their brash style of “nasty,” sex-infused, boundary-breaking songs.

Captivating rock star Joan Jett thinks about her legacy, but not in the way many others might. Hers is a nuanced perspective in which she hopes her name can help carry on her music and the important songs and messages she’s been a part of. Yet, at the same time, Jett works to consciously sever herself from the potentially egotistical sensibility that somehow the musical sun could ever rise and fall at her behest.

In truth, Jett is, of course, a legend. She’s rebellion personified, which is and was no easy task to achieve. But to let in the various permutations of what that word—legend—means it can cloud or blind one to what’s important. Namely, maintaining a personal openness to the world and to others. Instead of living starry-eyed, Jett wants to live a philosophically-minded life, to be one of those people who leans into encouragement and not dismissal. She wants to tell others: Go for it!

Alynda Segarra, frontwoman for the indie rock band Hurray for the Riff Raff, knows what it’s like to feel at-risk. She knows what it’s like to feel invisible. She knows what it’s like to hop trains, sleep under trees, duck into bushes and hedges and she knows what it’s like to be on the run. In many ways, these moments are the foundation for who she is, both as a person today and as an artist. But these days she is also creating new formative moments upon which she’ll stand, assured. She’s continuing to grow and evolve in big ways. She’s continuing to listen as well as to make new music. These are the ingredients of her newest record, Life On Earth, which is set to drop on Friday (February 18). These are the lenses through which she sees and experiences the world around her.

When John Lurie was in his mid-teens, his sister gave his older brother a harmonica for his birthday. That, combined with the acquisition of a Little Walter record, had the two brothers obsessed with both the idea of the instrument and making music together. Lurie, who today stars in the HBO television show Painting With John, which debuts its second season on Friday (February 18), practiced on the harmonica obsessively. In high school, he and his brother started a band called Crud in which he played and sang. Not long after, he jammed with Mississippi Fred McDowell and Canned Heat with John Lee Hooker. Thus, a career in the arts was born.

Growing up in Mississippi, the son of sharecroppers, Lester Chambers used to love to hear his voice in harmony. What’s more, he loved hearing that harmony echo. Today, the 81-year-old frontman for the Bay Area-based band Moonalice looks back on those early years fondly. It was the time when his dream began—a dream that’s continued through today, into his ninth decade. In this way, Chambers’ voice has been echoing in real-time as long as anybody’s in music history. And that career continues with Moonalice’s latest single, “Let’s Get Funky,” a song Chambers first began to write some 50 years ago and one that American Songwriter is premiering today in its latest form.

If there’s a secret to the success of the Michigan-born rock band Greta Van Fleet, it’s that the members have always allowed themselves to push the proverbial envelope—to go deep, further, and even toward the weird in their work. To head toward extremes says the group’s frontman and lead singer, Josh Kiszka. The band, which is comprised of brothers Josh on the mic, Jake on guitar, and Sam on bass, along with close friend Danny Wagner on drums, didn’t limit themselves in their exploration and internal discoveries as they coalesced and improved as musicians. The strategy has worked. The result so far has been sold our tours, an SNL appearance, and Grammy recognition. But accolades aren’t necessarily what drives the band. Rather, acceptance from their heroes is, along with the process of going through that which excites and calms their creative minds, which occurs almost in the same breath.

Grammy-nominated songwriter and performer Sylvia (born Sylvia Jane Kirby) wants people to look inside the next time they think they need help. The tendency, of course, is to look outward for answers. Can someone help me out of this? Who can save me? These are the questions we ask ourselves in our dark hours. But, Sylvia says, we may find better answers if we look to our instincts and our most distilled judgment. These aren’t easy lessons to learn, however. Sylvia, who rose to fame in the ’80s while in her 20s, has now learned from experience.

She’s figured out what to shed and what to keep. Today, she says, she lives in the moment, listening to her own ideas as guidance. The result is the record she’s always wanted to make. An album that offers its listeners a path forward that’s also a path internal. And it begins with a song that American Songwriter is premiering today, “Avalon,” which is the first track from her forthcoming LP, Nature Child, due out on February 22.

If you ask Joe Newman, vocalist, and co-founder of the popular band alt-J, about the genesis of the band’s new record, The Dream, which is out Friday (February 11), he’ll tell you it all began, essentially, the day he got his first guitar. While, to some, that answer may seem cheeky or even flip, for Newman, it’s completely true. For him, the process of writing songs isn’t something that begins in the morning on a given day and concludes that night. Instead, for the artist, a song may begin 20 years or more before it’s set to record. Or a bit of it may start one year, another bit on another, and even a third chunk some years later. In this way, songwriting, like healing, is not linear. It’s more like assembling a bouquet.